The Laundry of the Fellowship
by ArielManx
Summary: Being a Mary Sue in Middle Earth isn't nearly as fun as it might sound. Actually, if reality ever kicked in, things would be quite unhappy indeed.
1. The Creator has a Sense of Humor

**The Laundry of the Fellowship**

**A/N:** I swore I'd never write a Mary Sue. And now look at me. A broken, pathetic writer whose friends conned her into 'getting thrown into Middle-earth'. If it weren't for the fact that they're blackmailing me with chocolate…

A few notes on this story. As mentioned before, this was NOT my idea. I have read the books, but most people find them a bit longwinded. And it would be hell to type. So we're using the movie dialogue. Everyone cheer! I am putting in some of the more important book elements (such as the fact that getting to Rivendell does not take only one day). This is a blatant Mary Sue, yes. But I'm hoping you can forgive that once you see the stuff they make me do… eww. Washing clothes.

******

Yes, there I was, reading fanfiction, wondering who wrote this crap about "Eludriel, who had eyes like the sunset and the ocean and Made Legolas swoon." For goodness' sake, they didn't even use the correct capitalization! I mean, I don't Make people do anything, do I? I usually make them do something… and I don't think my looks would ever make an elf swoon… 

I exited the browser in disgust, imagining the reactions I would get from the Fellowship if I ever fell into Rivendell. I wouldn't be welcomed with open arms if it were anything close to the real thing. In fact, I'd be lucky to survive… maybe they were partial to whimpering little girls?

Nah. I'd be killed.

I took a casual look at my computer clock then and nearly screamed in panic. It was currently four thirty six in the morning exactly. 

Mom was going to kill me before anyone else did.

I ran to my bed hurriedly, turning off lights as I went and pushing my very fat, very lazy cat from the bed. It blinked at me hazily before curling up on the floor where it had been thrown and immediately going back to its dreams of dead mice. Yeah sure. If Jerry ever caught a mouse, I would die of shock. Hence the name, of course. He had the heart of a mouse… a very lazy mouse…

I was beginning to think incoherently. A good sign of falling asleep. Of course, as soon as I thought this, I was once more awake. And I realized that the screen was still on.

I leapt from my bed with a hiss of growing fear and switched it off, then fumbled around in the darkness for my comfy haven.

It didn't seem to be where I had left it. In fact, I was sure it was somewhere around… 

Suddenly, and quite painfully, I was falling. Well, it wasn't exactly the falling part that was painful, of course; it was the landing. It hit me somewhere in that fuzzed and sleep-deprived mind of mine that this was the way the world got back at me for not listening to curfew. I knew I was going to end up in Middle Earth… and that it would not be fun.

Would you care to hazard where I landed? In Legolas' lap during the council? No, silly, that would be a bit overdone. The man in charge of the cosmos has a much better sense of humor, and is much more creative. In point of fact, I landed right on my face, smack dab in the middle of Strider's wonderful speech about how Frodo was supposed to be careful with that evil ring of his. Clarification: a room in the inn in Bree. I had a sword at my throat immediately. Hey, you appear out of thin air, and even rangers get spooked. Frodo was looking at me strangely, like someone who had just seen too much to be surprised anymore.

And, to top it all off, on cue, the hobbit brigade had arrived. "Let him go, or I'll have you…" Sam stopped talking when he saw the scene. "Oh."

"Now look, I can explain this!" I said, gulping at the very sharp sword. Strider raised an eyebrow and waited, looking much more dangerous than I'd ever imagined he might be. And all of that ranger deadliness was pointed at my throat.

"Okay… maybe I can't. But I swear it's not my fault!" There seemed to be room wide confusion at that point. The hobbits decided then to ignore me and run to Frodo.

"Are you okay, Frodo? You hurt? What happened?" Frodo looked rather resigned to the fact that his life was officially… weird to say the least.

Strider threw me to the floor, a bit more roughly than necessary I would say, and closed the door. "You're going to tell me everything now," he ordered. "I didn't see you among the roof beams, but that doesn't excuse the fact that you were eavesdropping." I nearly sighed in relief, but quashed the urge. It could look suspicious.

Still, what do you say to that?

My delirious mind, which was not working well at all what with being awake for much too long and being in fear of death, did not come up with a very good lie. "I… ah… thought the room was mine. My knitting thread got tangled in the rafters, so I went to get it…" 

No one looked impressed. Think, more plausible, but not get me killed plausible…

"Okay, okay, you guys looked interesting, and Mr. Underhill disappearing spooked me. I wanted to know what was going on." Not bad for spur of the moment.

"I didn't see you down there," said Pippin, confused and a bit woozy from his drinking. Bad hobbit. You don't discount the perfectly plausible story!

"Well obviously I wasn't down there. I was just going up the stairs, in fact." 'Strider' was getting angry. It's not fun to have a ranger angry at you, you know, as they're quite scary that way.

"You'll have to come up with a few better lies," he told me in a soft voice, which spoke volumes more than what he'd said. "I had been in that room for quite some time before 'Mr. Underhill' arrived." Oh god. Someone up there was laughing their pants off. Assuming they wore pants… oh yes, you know you're panicking when you're wondering if the creator wears pants. I tried the straight and narrow approach.

"I'm from another world, or possibly another time. I was sent here by some higher entity as a cruel joke." Again with the rough floor throwing. Ow.

"If you're not going to tell me the truth, you forfeit your life. Now talk." Sam, ever the compassionate, naive hobbit, spoke out then.

"Hey now, no need for that! She's not even armed!" It was odd and a bit scary knowing that a hobbit half my size was my only hope of survival at this point.

"Y-yeah, I've never even touched anything pointy! It's not like I'm going to tell anyone! You can trust me!" I put on my most convincing little girl smile. I'm a bit young looking for my age. With any luck…

"Somehow, I doubt it." Of course, it was then that I'd noticed that I wasn't in my normal clothes. At least I'd gotten that break. Instead of the oversized shirt I had been wearing to bed, I was clad in breeches and a tunic. The relief at not having to explain that part quickly disintegrated when I realized that I had a utility dagger at my belt. This was pulled out by Strider, who narrowed his eyes and turned back to Frodo.

"We need to move. This room is no longer safe, as Butterburr has it registered to four hobbits. We'll move to my room for the night." He looked at me as if I were a cockroach he were carrying outside the house on a paper towel. He just didn't seem to like me.

"She'll need to be guarded. One of you make sure she doesn't have any other weapons on her." The suspicion in the hobbits' eyes nearly made me gag. When you're eyed like that by people who look like kids, you know you've done something terribly wrong.

On our way down, Butterburr came rushing up to Frodo, a piece of paper clutched in his hand. "Almost forgot, Mr. Underhill, a letter that Mr. Gandalf left for you." The contents confirmed Strider's trustworthiness, but most assuredly not mine. It also mentioned a poem and his real name, which I obviously had known the whole time.

"All that is gold does not glitter?" I quipped with a shaky smile. "That referring to you?" The answering glare was enough to shut me up the rest of the way to Aragorn's room.

**

A frustrated scream interrupted my uneasy sleep. I struggled to sit up, being tied hand and foot. A jolt of fear went through me, as I knew better than anyone in the room, except perhaps Aragorn, what danger we were in. 

"They are the Nazgûl, Ringwraiths, neither living nor dead. At all times they feel the presence of the Ring… they will never stop hunting you." Feeling the chill quite suddenly, and not realizing that I'd once again heard something I shouldn't have, I asked,

"Can I have a blanket?"

There was a groan from a corner of the room, and one of the hobbits, couldn't tell which, threw a blanket at me. Probably to shut me up. It was amazing, the most terrible sound I've ever heard in my life, and the hobbits just want to sleep. I shook my head, ignored the glares that came at me from every angle, and attempted to get the blanket settled without using my hands. It was quite a feat. Actually, after about a minute of tossing, Frodo settled it for me. Wonderful people, really. I wondered what the journey would be like. Were they going to tie me up again and throw me on a horse? What if it rained? Was I going to be fed at all?

Oh yes, that was right, the horses were going to be stolen! At least it was a safe bet that Aragorn wasn't going to toss me over a shoulder. He was already looking at me like a bug again. 

There's a fact you can count on almost all of the time: rangers do not trust easily. Especially this one. Well, the fact that I'd been apparently eavesdropping didn't help the matter at all. The others, trusting him because of Gandalf's letter (well, sort of – he had better credentials than me because mine were a confiscated utility knife and a bad lie), had decided that he was quite a knowledgeable person and that his perception of me was correct. Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but wouldn't I technically have been the most knowledgeable person in the group at the moment, seeing as I knew what was going to happen? This comforted me to some extent. When they found that the horses had been stolen in the morning, I was feeling much more satisfied with Middle-earth.

**

I was allowed to use my feet on the way to Weathertop, but at all times that ranger was near. He was like a watchdog. I wanted to growl in frustration, for despite the Nazgûl, I still wanted to be a part of the adventure. After all, it was a once in a lifetime opportunity. Why in the world should I want to run off?

While I was walking, no one talked to me. It was a bit lonely, but I amused myself by wondering how I was speaking Westron, and if I might be able to read the writing. Could I speak elvish at all? Would I understand it if I heard it?

When we reached the old outpost, I had regained my sense of foreboding. When Aragorn found the runes, telling us that Gandalf had been here three days before and in much danger, I remembered why I might be feeling that.

Choices, choices. Tell them about the Ringwraiths? No, that would be inviting disaster. Instead, I referred to the scorch marks with trepidation.

"You know, if this wizard was in danger, doesn't that suggest something very powerful? I mean, shouldn't we get a move on?" Another look of distaste.

"Whatever it was, it is most likely gone. We will just have to stay on our toes." The hobbits, however, were finally starting to agree with me.

"I think she has a bit of a point. It wouldn't be that terrible to walk on a little longer, would it?" Their love of rest and food was countered by the idea of the very real danger. Frodo shook his head at the rest of them.

"We have swords, even magical swords. We should be fine." As the fact was brought to my attention that my only protection, a normal utility knife, was held by Aragorn, and I was tied so that running wouldn't work very well, a bit of my mind, the voice of self-preservation, ran and huddled in a corner.

"Ah, I'm sorry, I don't happen to have any magical swords. I'm also effectively hobbled. Could we rectify that? I mean, there's really not much food around, I couldn't find my way in a forest if someone pointed. I'm not going to run off." I tried to look sincere. Not very hard when you are sincere.

"Fine." The ranger sighed and took away the ropes on my wrists as well as the ones limiting my foot movement to a brisk walk. "I'll scout for danger if it will make you happy." I was about to say that no, I knew there was danger and if he were nearby I would feel much safer, but that would be idiocy. "Night is coming, you can help set up camp."

With that, Aragorn left us to break out the bedrolls and the food. I was particularly hungry, having to expend more energy than the others as I was walking with shorter and jerkier steps. I'd also always hated hiking. Honestly, the longest hike I'd ever been on was ten miles in one day, and that was with rest and food in between. And lots of complaining. Although, I didn't dare complain with Aragorn nearby.

"Ah… do you think I might have a bit of that?" I asked Merry hopefully.

The halfling blinked. I hadn't really addressed any of the hobbits before.

"I suppose so." He gave me a bit of trail rations. The food was terrible, especially as I was a picky eater. But who was complaining? It was food. If the hobbits could eat it, so could I. I attempted to strike up a conversation. Not easy under the circumstances, but hobbits were normally a nice crowd.

"So, we're going to Rivendell, are we?" I asked lamely. "I've heard it's interesting…" Nope, not the most intelligent starter.

"Ah… yes?" Pippin tried.

Frodo, the oldest of them all, raised an eyebrow. "We may as well not beat around the bush. Why were you eavesdropping?"

"Wasn't eavesdropping," I murmured irritably. "Aragorn made that assumption all on his own." The hobbit blinked.

"What else would you be doing up in the rafters?" he asked. 

I sighed. "Okay, one of the stories I told was the truth. I'll give you three guesses which." 

Sam scratched his head. "You were knitting?"

"No," I growled. 

Frodo sighed. "I'm afraid that only one of those was plausible, and Aragorn confirmed that you weren't downstairs." I wanted to roll my eyes. This was Middle-earth for goodness' sake. And they doubted that I'd come from another world?

"Oh come on, do I look creative enough to make anything up?" I asked. "I swear, for following a wizard's trail you certainly don't have much faith in the unexplainable." There was a heavy silence. It carried on until it was well past nightfall and Aragorn had checked back once. 

Knowing what was about to happen, I readied myself. No fear. They're after the ring, right? That wasn't really a comfort. While I wasn't in very good standing with Frodo at the moment, knowing he was going to be stabbed didn't make me feel better at all.

The unearthly screams that echoed through the night made me certain that I should've spoken up, no matter the consequences. The four hobbits stiffened, and drew their blades. I was wishing dearly for that small utility knife. Or anything, for that matter. I tried to quell the fear with math equations, which always made my blood pump more sluggishly. Practice… the hobbits didn't have time to look at me strangely as I chanted my equations of area, circles, x's, y's, donuts… it quickly turned into a praise of everyday life.

We retreated to the other side of the hill, but the dark riders had it surrounded. Sam was the first to attempt to defend his master, of course, and he stepped up to the responsibility admirably considering that he was shaking uncontrollably. "You'll not have him!" he yelled at the riders. I swallowed as one of the dark swathed figures gave a raspy laugh and swatted him aside as easily as a rag doll. 

Merry and Pippin were the next, and I almost couldn't bear to watch. I might not have been able to except that the black riders held my gaze in a morbidly fascinating kind of way. Though they were fearful and their appearance spoke of torturous things to come, I could not look away from their dark magnificence. 

The two brave hobbits let loose a somehow smothered battle cry that did not travel more than a few feet from them. I was amazed by their strength of will and determination. How could they move at all under these piercing gazes?

My odd mantra of 'I wish I had some chocolate' had worked until we'd actually seen the Nazgûl, at which point it had all fled my brain and trailed off into nothingness. I realized that I would be foolish to simply stand there, and a coward too, but what could I do?

Merry was seized roughly by the hair even as he flailed uselessly with his weapon. I stood, entranced, as his small form flew by me, missing my head by inches. Pippin cried out in fear, but stood strong in front of Frodo, who was fumbling inside his tunic for something, his eyes wide with some terrible emotion. The youngest hobbit was ruthlessly kicked in the ribs by a metal plated boot, and Pippin didn't even have the time to cry out in pain before he hit the ground and ceased all movement.

I was alone with the ring bearer, who was now giving every ounce of himself to fighting the artifact's power over him. 

What could I do?

I snapped from my stupor as the wraiths swept closer, their wicked blades held before them, shining with some unearthly fey light. My fear overcame my awe in that moment, but I knew that I couldn't run away. Not only would I be hunted down… but that would make me a coward of the worst kind

I ran for Sam's unconscious form, searching blindly for the sword he had brandished so courageously. My hand closed on the blade, and I pulled back with a hiss before seizing the hilt. 

I'd taken fencing… but it wouldn't help a bit. Fencing was a nobleman's sport, not for fighting with the dead. The sword was all wrong for it, and I had a sneaking suspicion that if I tried it I would get myself killed, as my stance had never been that good in the first place.

So, of course, as only one of the things broke away to dispose of the last and most useless defender, I brought up the sword before my face, needing to feel as though there were something between that dreadful apparition and me.

There was a jolt of force as I barely managed to lift the thing in time, and I was suddenly flying through midair. Next was a sickening thud, which I assumed was me hitting a tree. I wasn't quite sure, because before I could feel any pain, I mercifully blacked out and missed the next part.


	2. Two Steps From Hogtied

The Laundry of the Fellowship 

**More silliness and adding to the characterization. Arwen's a rather strong female personality – can you imagine the henpecking Aragorn goes through? 'I DON'T CARE IF YOU'RE KING OF GONDOR OR KING OF THE MOUNTAIN, YOU ARE GOING TO TAKE A BATH!'**

**=P That's just my take, though. I hope everyone's realized by now that there's very little seriousness in this.**

**Chapter 2**

When I came to, my head hurt. Well, that's the understatement of the year, or rather, it comes right up behind the first thing I heard.

"Frodo looks sick." Oh great. It'd happened. He'd been stabbed. Well, not that I was expecting to make a real dent in any black riders, but one could always hope…

"No, Pippin, you think?" Merry grumbled.

"Mr. Frodo? Mr. Frodo, hold on, Strider's getting something to help you." Oh nice. It was to be hoped that I hadn't been completely forgotten! At least I didn't feel any ropes tying me up. Of course, I couldn't feel much of anything right now except pain.

I groaned, making myself known.

"Oh, she's up." That was the only recognition I got. I opened my eyes and immediately regretted it. I gave another pitiful groan. On the bright side, I knew for certain that I didn't feel anything near what Frodo did. Ugh, bright. Yeah, bright. Really bright, blindingly bright. And that was only the firelight messing with my mind and eyes.

"W-what happened? What's wrong with Frodo?" I knew the basic situation, but some things may have changed.

"He's…hurt. I don't know exactly what's wrong with him, but it's something bad. Strider's gonna help him." That was possibly the most I'd gotten out of any of them so far. The headache dulled my urge to victory dance somewhat. I forced my eyes open for longer than the few instants I'd held them open before (no use putting it off) and they watered from the light as I looked at Frodo. 

"He wasn't stabbed?" I asked worriedly.

"Of course he was. We're lucky that's all!" Sam was near panic with this, but the other two seemed strangely calm.

I looked more closely at Frodo from where I was. His breathing was a bit shallower, but it wasn't too bad yet. I reminded myself that we had something around two weeks until Rivendell. In which time it would be much worse.

"I would say let's suck out the poison, but I have the feeling that it would burn my mouth." I was grossed out just saying that.

"Well, if you have nothing useful to say then, you don't need to talk." Well that was nice. And here I was thinking I'd finally gotten them to talk to me.

"Come on, Sam, she's not the one who stabbed him. You're getting snappy."

"I am not!"

"Are too!"

"Don't start, Pippin." Merry, ever his keeper. Now that my eyes were feeling better, I felt it was safe to get to my knees. After that wave of nausea passed without incident, it was up to my swaying feet.

I was vaguely surprised that I wasn't busy throwing up the meager food we'd eaten from the sight of the blood, but also sure that that would come in due time. So, let's see what I remembered from my health test.

This was called…what? Ah, no clue. Elevate it? No, that wasn't right. Put ice on it? Yeah, right, from where? Aragorn had obviously already staunched the bleeding. While my mind protested that the first thing to do was to call 911, Aragorn came back with the Athelas. He looked faintly surprised that I was up, but handed me a bit.

"Stew it, if you will, while I apply some directly. Do you know how to do that?"

"Yes, I know how to do that." I said a bit snappishly. The headache was still there, and my common sense (the thing in your head that tells you not to anger xenophobic rangers) was still befuddled. I went over to the fire and paused.

"Where's the tea kettle?"

"Over here." Sam tossed it to me and nearly hit me in the head.

"Hey! My coordination isn't wonderful right now! You're going to knock out your manual labor!" Not that I'd done too much yet, but it sounded good.

"Just please get it brewed?" There was a sad helplessness in that voice. I was shaken as the reality of the situation came crashing down. 

_He thinks he's going to die._

_Hell, he might if I change something._

I hurried and poured some water in the kettle from my water skin. We'd have to refill them at the first river. I almost began to calculate where and when that would be before snapping back to the real world.

"Hey!" I called to Aragorn, who was changing Frodo's bandages and adding a very strange, very smelly poultice to the wound. "Chopped or whole leaves?" I know how to boil water and stew stuff, but I'm not exactly a world-class cook.

"Chop it, it'll boil it out faster." Oh. I should've known that. Too bad salt was so scarce, could've gone even faster. I found that hunting knife that I hadn't even used yet and stuck it in the fire to clean it off. Before it got red, I pulled it out and carefully chopped up the Athelas. Feeling quite proud of myself, though why I'll never know, I put the remains of the poor plant in our pot.

"How long?"

There was a sigh as Aragorn finished replacing Frodo's bandages. "Just get out of the way." Oh fine, fine. I see. Not much use other than chopping our veggies, am I?

But then, this was life or death from his point of view. I calmed myself down and obeyed. 

So…let's watch Frodo, shall we? He was looking much better after those bandages. Not quite so white. Sam, of course, refused to leave him, even though he was the cook of our merry little band.

"He'll make it," I said confidently to Sam. "He's a Baggins, right? He's got enough blood left in him to keep him stubborn."

Oops. The gardener was looking at me strangely. "How-"

"It's done." Rescued by the xenophobic ranger. Who would have guessed.

Strider applied the poultice carefully, Sam wincing as Frodo did.

"He should regain consciousness soon, he just hit his head a bit hard. The wound will be another matter, but he should last a while."

I dared to intervene. "Where are we going? Actually, I know where we're going, you said that, but how will we get there?" Strider gave me a sour look, but replied.

"We'll pass the Hoarwell, and then it is but a short distance to the Ford. Once we are closer to Rivendell I should feel much safer, but we are still a ways yet." I nodded, a hazy map of Arda in my mind. Isengard was down there somewhere, and the shire was Northish… oh yeah, I was confused.

Strider smiled grimly, as if reading my mind, and picked up Frodo.

"I hope you don't mind that he'll be taking the horse?" he asked mildly. I was quite sure that he'd been thinking the same as I – that had we had more horses, I would be hogtied on top of one.

"Oh no, not at all," I protested. There were always the small things to be grateful for.

**

I spent the next few days trying to remember important things about our path, succeeding only very little. Meanwhile, Frodo got steadily worse, though he had become awake and very much alert after the first day. Stubborn hobbit obviously refused to show it, though. It made me angry that I was so correct about the Bagginses. I had sort of guessed about the stubborn thing…

When we reached the Hoarwell crossing, Frodo was doing much worse. Strider, of course, was wondering why we hadn't happened to meet any Nazgûl along the way. I knew – it was one of the few things I _did_ know – so I didn't worry about it nearly as much as he did. 

Aragorn returned from a small ford with a small green jewel in his hand the day after he had voiced this question. "It gives me hope, and explains much," he told us. "Beryl is an Elven jewel. I have a feeling there is a good reason the riders have not attacked again." No one uttered a word, as we were all tired from marching and very worried. That night, we camped in a very uncomfortable, rocky place. The rocks certainly didn't stop it from being wet, and Frodo was all the worse for it. 

Aragorn explained that night that we were too far North of Rivendell and had to go back. There were groans from every side.

I turned around and tried to settle myself into a pile of leaves. I closed my eyes and attempted a fitful sleep.

It wasn't comfortable. I had rocks digging into my sides the whole night. I mean, I'd always thought that after sleeping outside on one of my camping trips that I might be able to take something like this. But then, that was a forest, and on soft, level ground. Comparatively.

The fast pace's toll on everyone became much more obvious the next day. There were shadows under everyone's eyes, but there was no way we could stop. Frodo protested that we could take time to rest, but the idea was a weak thing, which was brushed aside. We'd doubled back, and nearly had a scare with a few trolls. If they'd been real, we might've had a problem, but Aragorn simply walked up to the statues and broke a stick on one of their behinds. Everyone relieved a bit of tension by laughing very loudly, but it sounded hollow. After the short break we once again continued on. When we were about to stop for a night, I wasn't surprised at all to hear hoof beats coming.

"Have the Nazgûl finally returned?" asked Frodo wearily. I smiled broadly, knowing that this was untrue, and hastened to explain lest I seem a bit eager.

"Why would they show up now if they haven't before? And I haven't got those funny tingles going up my back either." Indeed, the golden haired Glorfindel had appeared on the scene in all of his splendour, and with him came the horse that would save Frodo's life. I was frankly disappointed that there weren't trumpets and lighting effects accompanying it, but there you go. 

He was… ethereal. Beautiful, though it pains me to describe a man like that. Not being an elf-fanatic myself, I only marveled slightly less than Sam. Reading about an elf and seeing one were two completely different things. One part of me wanted me to fall to my knees and stare in wonder while another, more curious side, was wondering if they really did live as long as Tolkien said.

This became a completely moot point as Strider approached him and greeted him. Glorfindel spoke a few words in elvish (beautiful language… wish I could understand it, but I was never that much of a fanatic). In short order, the ring bearer, despite protests, was loaded onto the beautiful horse (which went nicely with the beautiful man and the beautiful language) and sent to Rivendell.

"He will outdistance the dark riders without problem," said the elf with relief as Frodo's retreating figure disappeared into the distance. I was a little sad that I wouldn't see the ford flood, but not such a fool that I didn't know why it was completely stupid to want to see it. And man… I was too tired for anymore excitement.

When Glorfindel passed around the silvery liquid, I took it without question, reasoning that if it were poison it would at least end the suffering. Not that I suspected an elf lord of poisoning me, but if he was Aragorn's friend…

"So… how's the elf lord life treating you?" I asked him, feeling a little woozy from the drink. Oh, I was quite awake, but that elf stuff is _strong_.

Glorfindel was looking at me strangely. "You said she fell from the rafters?" he addressed Aragorn, who was attempting (but failing) to look unaffected by the potion. 

"Hm? Oh yes, yes, of course. Yes." Apparently, elf lords can hold up to this stuff easier. Who knew that elves brewed such potent stuff? The remaining hobbits were now counting mushrooms off the road. I figured it must have affected them much more because of their small bodies. Or maybe they really were just counting mushrooms for the heck of it.

"She has an odd accent I haven't heard before," I heard the elf lord continue. "Didn't you notice?" 

Aragorn shrugged. "You're talking to someone that spent nearly their entire life with elves. I don't think I would recognize many accents."

"Point taken."

"Would you stop talking about me like I'm not here?" I was already annoyed with him. That wasn't a good sign, especially as I couldn't even annoy him back without fear for my life.

"She looks a bit weak," commented Glorfindel, completely ignoring me. "No muscle on her at all."

"HEY! Not all of us have spent our lives training! SO WHAT!" They were ignoring me again. This was quickly getting old.

"You're right, she can't even use a sword. Not that I've intentionally let her get hold of one, but there have been instances…"

"Perhaps we could get her work as a laundry woman in Rivendell," said the elf airily.

"EXCUSE ME! I am RIGHT HERE! I can hear every word you jerks are saying and you SHALL regret it!"

That gave them pause. I was happy, in spite of myself, because I was finally being recognized.

"…Do you know what a 'jerk' is, Glorfindel?"

"No, I can't say I've heard it before. I would guess it is an unflattering name for someone." With that, they turned back to their conversation about how terribly useless I was. Predictably, this did wonders for my self-esteem.

"…if we were going to have a woman along, she could have at least been pleasing on the eyes…"

That one made me laugh. "You would have hated her," I said offhandedly.

"What?" Both turned to look at me once more.

"I said you would have hated her utterly. You have no idea how many times people have thought- I mean, I know some like that, they're worse than I am. Always having to get rescued and such. You find yourself spouting poetry in the middle of a battle…" Glorfindel shook his head and said something in elvish. I'm not sure what it was but I would guess it was 'an unflattering name for someone.' Probably something along the lines of 'crazy, delusional, half-wit…'.

I was quickly becoming less and less enamored with the beautiful language and the beautiful man. In fact… "Doesn't laundry require coordination, though? Perhaps she could wash the dishes?" …yep. There went my last bit of admiration.

It was to the tune of my flaws I walked to Rivendell. No, I mean literally. Merry and Pippin, to the consternation of the other hobbit, had come up with a song of them. They sang it loudly as much as they could. And they were tone deaf.

At some point, I think I threw a pinecone at one of them. I'm not sure because I wasn't exactly coherent at that point. Another dim memory of a ranger holding me back surfaces presently. I think there was also a knock over the head. Ouch.

What next I remember is Rivendell. And I will let all of you know that I wanted nothing less than to kiss Elrond's feet at this point. Maybe I tried to. When the idea that I should do dishes was pitched at him, he pitched it right back and said, "A guest in the city of elves shall not do menial labor."

He's a lot nicer than people make him out to be. Despite being very intimidating.

It was soon that I found he didn't know everything that went on in the absolutely wonderful city. Despite the waterfalls, the trees, the birds, and the absolutely gorgeous sunsets, Rivendell Resort was not all it's cracked up to be. For instance, I was ALWAYS flanked by at least one elf making sure I wasn't going to suddenly go homicidal and go on an elf-killing spree. I had to sleep in a room with Aragorn (on the floor, damnit) and it was not a pleasant experience. Especially as he definitely wanted to be somewhere else. If you don't know whom I'm talking about, I won't tell you. I heard her name so much that I hated her before I ever met her.

'She's a wonder on horseback, light as a feather, beautiful as the evening stars, her smile is like the sun…'

Just when I'd given up any and all hope of sleep (rangers get so very little…) miss Evenstar herself graced Aragorn with her presence. 

She came through his bedroom door, a vision of loveliness, reminding me of nothing if not a Mary Sue in all her elvish splendor. Except for the fact that her face was smudged with dirt and her hair had more than a few twigs in it.

"Aragorn!" She flung her arms around him. He fidgeted.

"Ah…Arwen…long time, no see." The future king was looking pale.

"Long time no see? LONG TIME NO SEE? It has been FOREVER! What have you been doing since you last saw me? Why haven't you written? Why haven't you even stopped by just for tea?"

"Now I'm a busy man, Arwen, I've got a forest to protect and all…"

"Don't you DARE give me that, Aragorn, son of Arathorn! And who is THIS?" She'd spotted me. I waved weakly.

"She's some girl we picked up, it's my job to keep an eye-"

"YOU BETRAYED ME FOR A HUMAN?"

"Now, now, Arwen-"

I beat him to it. "ME? HIM? You have GOT to be KIDDING!" The fact that she was the princess escaped me at the moment. "I've been two words from hogtied the whole freaking way here! I've had a sword at my throat more times than I can count, walked miles each day, was attacked by Nazgûl, was constantly in fear for my life, and you think I would actually…" I was livid. Speechless. Arwen, on the other hand, looked angrier than ever.

"I can't believe you, Aragorn! Didn't you stop to have a decent bath along the way? No, don't answer me, I don't want to hear it! You had better get your act together and find some time to come and see me or so help me I will hogtie YOU!"

She left, slamming the door behind her. I could have groaned. I did. Aragorn was going to blame this all on…

"Would you look at what you did? Now she's mad at me!"

Yup. Me.

"Not my fault, ranger boy. I couldn't have written those love letters home for you. In case you're wondering, even though you still don't believe me, less than a month ago I was sitting happily at home by my fire, with my cat and my hot chocolate. Oh yeah, and I had INDOOR PLUMBING!" This odd assortment of foreign concepts didn't deter him.

"Those nonsense words aren't going to strengthen your ridiculous lies. Stop covering for yourself. You were eavesdropping!"

"I wasn't dropping any eaves!" I said, mimicking Sam. "I was knitting, of course," I continued sarcastically. "What kind of a fool do you take me for?" 

"You're either crazy or you're trying to make fun of me. Neither of which is good!"

Something suddenly struck me that I had quite forgotten until now. Oh yes, the wonders of mandatory and useless classes. Communications Applications. Look them straight in the eye and they back down.

I looked him right in the eyes. "I. Am. Not. Crazy. I am from another world. I was quite happy there. Something about this stupid ring and this stupid quest brought me here. Now, if you don't want to believe me, that's fine. Don't penalize me for your ailing love life though. I am GOING to go with you to destroy that ring and you are GOING to find a way to get me home!"

"Then that means you're making fun of…" Aragorn trailed off, blinking.

Wait a minute… I had a bad feeling I'd said something I shouldn't have.

"Destroy the ring? Who said we were going to destroy it? Who said we were going _anywhere_ at all? We haven't even met to figure out what to do with it!" Uh oh. Bad. Bad, bad, bad. My big mouth and me.

"It's the logical solution!" I shot back, trying to look as though he hadn't just scared me out of my wits. "The thing is going to call to everyone around it and it's only a matter of time until someone gives in. Sauron wants it, and so we get rid of it."

"Who says we've got to go anywhere to destroy it?"

"If someone didn't do it before now, it must have been dangerous."

There was silence.

"Fine." I nearly leapt for joy. "On one condition. You stay out of the way. You don't talk unless you're spoken to. And…" That didn't seem so bad. "You do the cooking, the laundry, and the dishes."

My hands clenched reflexively as I imagined them around his neck.

"Deal." What in hell made me say that?

He looked surprised. "Wait, and you get to chop wood."

"Nope. We already agreed. Besides, I can't chop worth crap. I have the muscles of a computer freak." At his puzzled look, I decided I didn't even want to explain. "I have no muscles. I can't lift an axe."

We shook on it. Then I smiled as I ordered him to go make up with his girlfriend. It got me another of those floor throwings, and I think there was a painful wrestling move in there, but things were looking up.

Besides, he may not have known when he made the deal... but I couldn't cook worth crap. 


	3. The Forming of a Fellowship

**The Laundry of the Fellowship**

**Ah yes. The long awaited next chapter. What's it been, like a year? Sorry. Got a life (which includes the new TTT extended DVD… yay).  As I wrote this, I realized that it is taking on a somewhat more serious tone. It's what happens when you leave a fic that long. But I rather like it anyway.**

**Chapter 3 – The Forming of a Fellowship (of sorts)**

The council of Elrond is something that every Lord of the Rings fan wishes they could see. A few of them wish they had fiery red hair and a giant bust and the authority to interrupt it and demand to accompany the Fellowship on the journey.

I was not one of them.

Let me elaborate.

First: we sat. Then: we sat some more. Somewhere in between were some boring comments about the weather and how Gondor was being besieged, and yadda, yadda, yadda. Well, it's just not as exciting when you're sitting there having the same facts described over and over for the people with hearing problems and/or memory retention problems. Example:

"Gondor is under attack. We cannot hold out forever."

Flash forward two minutes.

"Gondor is besieged by evil. We cannot hold out forever."

And then, once more for the new arrival.

"Gondor will fall eventually. We cannot hold out forever."

Ooh. And:

"Minas Tirith's falling down, falling down, falling down! Minas Tirith's falling down, for the hundredth time you losers!"

Oh wait. That was me. In my head. Wishing I were _anywhere else._

I think Aragorn suspected what was going through my head, as he sent a stern glare my way. I would have stuck out my tongue if I'd thought I could get away with it. Plus, the only guy on my side (Lord Elrond, who was really _not that much on my side as he'd almost forgotten who I was) would get to see the completely immature side of me. In chess, we would call that a __bad move. Hell, that would be a bad move in any game._

I ignored him, chewing on my fingernails boredly. I was hoping he might find this habit of mine disgusting and leave me be, but then I noticed his own chewed nails. Well. It _was_ pretty much like the medieval ages.

And of course, just as I'm getting ready to jump up and scream obscenities at the stalling diplomats about how the weather is _always_ freaking fair in Rivendell lately, so why don't we get _started already, _they_ arrived._

The elves, of course. The Mirkwood elves.

No. It was _not_ love at first sight. Who do you think I am, anyway?

But there was something about the hardened elves, each with a bow over their shoulder and the look of hardened battle veterans about them. They almost made me want to run outside and pick up a bow, ready for battle. Well, despite the fact that I couldn't use one. Their hardened features gave off a constant readiness; and I knew then that _this_ was what every society in the world had tried to perfect at one time.

"We were delayed on our way out of Mirkwood," one said quietly to Elrond. "Another spider attack."

The lord inclined his head in clear understanding. It was then that I realized this one, unremarkable elf out of them all was, in fact, the prince of Mirkwood. Legolas.

I swallowed as they sat down. I had the ill fortune to be seated next to one of the Elven emissaries. It had a very formidable effect on me, and I was suddenly acutely aware of my lack of muscles, lack of coordination – and lack of anything that would count as skill in this world.

I was useless.

But the most profound impact was yet to come.

"We arrive!"

The deep voice called past the door, and I heard the clear sound of booted feet enter the pavilion. Bearded figures, somewhat shorter than the others, came in easily, a proud air accompanying them. I realized that they did not need to step lightly like the quicksilver elves. Here were the dwarves.

Again, I found myself moved around to make room for them to all sit together. For, obviously, a dwarf could never sit by an elf and naturally, the elves disliked the dwarves. And to fit it all together, the men disliked the aloof elves and the dwarves disliked the way the humans looked at them crossways…

I sighed, resigned, as I was jostled around even more. It had suddenly become clear to me why I was _really_ here. I was a buffer between races. Because, obviously, no one could find a single, short, stringy haired human girl to be haughty, intimidating, or even extremely unpleasant.

Lord Elrond seemed to notice that _I'd_ noticed. He nodded slightly so that I understood.

I was important, in my own way. It was just not a very open or obtrusive way.

At least, I consoled myself, I was sitting next to a living legend. Gimli had ended up next to me, I found. While I was, of course, somewhat fearful that his axe (with its blade on the ground) would slip onto my foot, he seemed quite personable. He reminded me somewhat of a family friend who had played grandfather to me for a bit.

I was not usually nervous about meeting people. In fact, it was usually the other way around. But my hands shook and my mouth went dry before I could force myself to tap him on the shoulder gently. Gimli turned around, hands still on the haft of his axe. He nodded at me in a friendly manner.

"Gimli," he said simply, sticking out his hand. I shook it – he had a hearty grip, but he was careful not to squeeze my poor hand too hard.

"Courtney," I replied with a smile.

No one else had asked me my name.

"Are you a fugitive?" he asked gently. "From Gondor?"

My face froze. I had to work very hard not to rub my temples in embarrassment. For certain the name was not common here. I should have probably made up something more… ah… Middle-Earthian. Ardan? I didn't know what term would be used. But the name was probably not the problem in determining who I was. It was, more likely, my still-scrubby appearance.

He seemed to realize that he had made a mistake. "Ah. My fault. Haven't been around humans long." I took the excuse for what it was, but I knew I didn't look wonderful. I had just the look of a recently renewed human being, as I had been traveling in the wilderness for quite some time before Rivendell.

"It's fine," I said resignedly. "To tell the truth, I haven't been around _anything long. You are, in fact, the first dwarf I have ever met."_

He nodded again. "Then we're on equal footing."

We both sat down again as the true council began.

Elrond had risen from his seat, and silence instantly followed. The whole room respected him, at least.

He spoke in a clear, far-reaching voice: "The situation is dire. I am sure you have all heard rumors of some sort. The truth is such: Sauron's forces have been gathering in greater numbers. Gondor is under siege. And… the one ring has been found."

Chaos erupted once more. Gimli, beside me, grunted as though unimpressed. I had a feeling that someone had filled him in, at the very least, as to the situation. Similarly, Legolas (or at least, I thought it was him – my bad memory for faces was probably the only legendary thing about me) seemed nonplussed by the supposed shock.

"Well then," I whispered. "Isn't that interesting. They never mentioned that part."

Gimli seemed to have heard something of what I'd said. He looked over at me. "You don't seem too surprised yourself. I think I have misjudged your importance somewhat if you are high enough to have heard the truth."

I blinked. Well. Wasn't that flattering… after a fashion.

"I… ah… well, I happened to be a tag-along. In the group that brought it, you understand. I'm not really involved in any other way…" _Except that I hope I'm going with you when the group makes its pledge, as I know it will._

His stare seemed to penetrate me. I had to force myself not to shrink backward at such an intense, calculating look. Gimli turned back, however, as the room was calmed by Gandalf.

Gandalf. 

I hadn't _met Gandalf. When had __he arrived?_

I stared at the bearded man. I knew, despite my general lack of knowledge concerning Middle Earth (or Arda, as my friend usually insists on) that he was not simply a man. Gandalf was, in fact, a Maiar and older than anything I could ever dream of. The amazing amount of names he had accumulated ran through my mind. Gandalf was Mithrandir, Incanus, Greyhame, Stormcrow… and Olorin. 

The last would get me into deeper trouble than anything I could possibly imagine on my own. I knew it hadn't been used on Arda very much… if at all.

Presently, I tried to listen to what he was saying.

"…the world is in danger, and if the races do not come together as one, all hope is lost. Everything hangs in the balance – and yet you argue about who was supposed to tell whom about what. We are beyond this."

I listened to his voice, trying to listen for the amazing age behind it. It was no use – Gandalf the Grey simply sounded like an old man. But while his voice may not have had the power it should have, the words were persuasive. Age _did bring charisma with it, apparently._

I cast a sideways look at Frodo. He had been here almost as long as I, though he hadn't had to sit there for the duration of the weather report.

The hobbit was watching the council in calm silence.

I shivered as his hand went absently to pull out the ring around his neck and finger it. The ring that I suddenly found so bright, so _golden and beautiful…_

I wrenched my eyes away forcefully. I could _not_ begin thinking like that. I knew what would happen. I had the gift of forewarning. The path of temptation would lead to suffering for all.

"…the ring is dangerous…"

I licked my lips. I was trying to listen, but the incredible urge to look again whispered at me insidiously. It couldn't _hurt_, could it? It was just a ring…

I refused the voice in my head. I knew if I looked again that I would be lost.

I focused my attention on Gandalf once more, hoping to lose myself in interest.

Ah. We were at the good part.

Gimli stirred beside me, handling his axe impatiently. Boromir stood. I hadn't recognized him before, obviously. But I knew he was supposed to say something along these lines. "The ring is something to be used," he insisted. "It is something we _must_ use. For the good of all! Am I supposed to simply abandon the dying – and let those that are dead have died for nothing at all? It is something we are obligated to use against the enemy. And yet I hear talk of its destruction!"

His argument was much more convincing than it had sounded in the book.

"Sit, Boromir of Gondor," Gandalf requested quietly. "I would not have conflict at this council. You say we should use the ring – yet how do you propose we do so? The ones powerful enough to use it cannot touch it or they will be lost forever. We would have a new dark lord in place of the old. Is that what you wish?"

Boromir took a deep breath. He seemed to be trying to restrain himself. But it was useless. The ring was a weapon – and he only understood one kind of weapon.

"There must be a way. We can't destroy it without making sure."

Gandalf drew himself up. "I am a sure person. This ring is evil – it calls to those around it. It will corrupt us and eat us from the inside out should we attempt to harness it."

I licked my lips again. They were quite dry right now, though they had not been before.

Legolas, on the other side of the council, seemed troubled by the argument. I knew then that he could see disagreement in the future on all accounts dealing with Gondor. And especially with the Ring of Power.

I looked to my side at Gimli to gauge his reaction.

He was looking at me.

"And what do you think about this Ring," he asked me in a soft tone. I had to work to keep myself from trembling in amazement. No one had bothered to ask _me. As well they shouldn't have – I was no judge of such a matter._

And… it called to me…

"No," I breathed, suddenly understanding. "There is no way to use it."

The dwarf smiled as though he had found out a secret. Or perhaps he had simply found something that was not a secret – but that no one cared about in particular.

"I for one," he said suddenly and very loudly. "Believe that Tharkun has the right of it." I realized in surprise that Frodo had already risen and placed the ring on the pedestal, looking pained as he did so to let it go.

Gimli rose to his feet, to the surprise of all in the council – and brought down his axe upon the ring. Shouts of alarm and cheers from the dwarves created a chorus of disturbing sound that resounded in my ears. But nothing so much as the crack of metal. 

Gimli stumbled back in awe – the head of his axe had been split fully into two halves.

Well. I could have told him _that_ would happen.

But then again, not everyone had an objective point of view on the future.

"Well," he managed. Gandalf frowned.

"You understand what we must do. But the ring cannot be destroyed by the weapons of man… or dwarves or elves or any race that walks this earth. It can only be destroyed if it is cast into the fires of Mount Doom where it was made. Only there can it be unmade."

Boromir's eyes narrowed as though he were watching a particularly stupid heroine in a scary movie. I knew what he was thinking – had I not read the books, I would have been thinking the exact same thing.

It was suicide.

Worse, it was placing the ring directly where it wanted to be.

"And who will take it?"

The son of the steward of Gondor was suddenly heeded much more. His soft question carried through the room as though there were no other noise.

Legolas frowned from across the room. I knew then that he had seen _this_ part in particular coming.

The elvish diplomats rose from their seats, and the dwarves countered their arguments, and the men made a complete muck of things subsequently, because they had decided that they had the only right of things. Gandalf tried, without much success, to mediate things back into calm. Aragorn joined him, arguing that the arguments had to stop. If it hadn't been so serious a matter, I might have found it terribly ironic. I looked around, wondering what I might see.

Legolas was seated. 

Gimli was seated.

And Frodo… was looking particularly troubled and alone. His hand clenched and unclenched reflexively as he stared at the ring. But he looked down in surprise at it, and it stopped immediately.

"I… I'll take it," the hobbit said.

No one heard him but the three seated people in the room. Legolas raised an eyebrow, apparently sizing him up. Gimli beside me gave an approving nod. I… pitied him.

Now that the ring was not in sight, I detested it. I hated it. I hated the way it called to me and I would not pick it up again were the world urging me on. But even as I thought this, the temptation returned. How much harder must it have been for he, who had already carried it so very far…

"_I will take it!" he yelled._

That had not been in the books either.

I sighed. The arguments quieted. The whole room was now looking at Frodo.

"I do not want it. I wish to go home," he stated simply. "But I will take it."

Aragorn, the ranger I had come to know as a xenophobic menace, stared at him; a good dose of pity and an even greater bit of respect mingled in his eyes. Gandalf was suddenly looking much, much older – almost as old as the age I knew he was.

"Then I will come with you," Aragorn stated. Somehow, though, he felt he needed something more; something to bind the peoples in the room together, to shame them into working together. "If, by my life or death I can serve you… I shall." He knelt before the hobbit, and I suddenly felt an irrational surge of pride. I liked to think I had influenced this friendly streak in him.

Aragorn drew his sword and laid it at Frodo's feet.

"You have my sword."

The room was silent. Legolas, who had not spoken at all, contrary to what I knew to be common truth among fans everywhere (and among Tolkien himself), suddenly stood and walked to the hobbit, his humble expression belying a warrior's grace as he, too, knelt.

"You have my bow."

Gimli shot one appraising look at me before rising himself. "Well. Let it not be said that the dwarves are anything but brave. This danger is not one I would miss for the world." He, too knelt, which was a somewhat difficult feat for a dwarf in full armor (for ceremonial armor was just as functional as the real thing). "You have my axe, young hobbit."

Boromir surveyed the room with a growing look of despair on his face. I understood. His only perceived hope of saving his people was going to be destroyed.

And they all expected him to help.

Nevertheless, the man stood and strode to the party of kneeling people. "I will aid you. If need be, I will follow you into the fire of the mountain itself." He drew his sword and put it down reverently.

Gandalf sighed. "I do wish this burden had not been placed upon you, Frodo Baggins. But I submit to you whatever my help is worth."

And, to my great astonishment, and to the amazement of all others (especially Lord Elrond), he, too, knelt before Frodo.

The poor hobbit was looking somewhat frazzled. Until:

"Me too! I'm coming too!"

"And me!"

"And _I, Pippin."_

"Yes, and you too."

The other three hobbits ran in from their hiding place behind one of the numerous trees that adorned the House. Sam, in particular, wore a stubborn expression.

"You won't be leaving without us. Just you try it and you'll see what hobbits are _really made of."_

There was a moment of murmuring among the more stern-faced attendees, but Gandalf accepted them into the circle. I saw, just for a moment, a fleeting tug at the corners of Lord Elrond's mouth. I knew, then, that he had known of their presence the whole time.

The Fellowship as I knew it was complete. It was supposed to end there.

"Well now," remarked Gandalf. He was going to say the words, I knew it. "We are a Fellowship of nine. Nine to combat the nine black riders of Mordor. But we will have an advantage over them."

Elrond seemed to be playing along with his game; I was not quite sure where it was going yet. I didn't dare to hope.

"Yes?" the Lord asked, amused. "And what advantage is that?"

Gandalf stood. And he turned around. And looked at me.

"We will have a cook, of course."

I could have cried.

But I didn't.

Instead, I swallowed and rose from my own seat, walking almost mechanically toward Frodo.

"Well now," I said shakily. "You've got my skillet, I suppose."

Frodo smiled.

"The most important weapon to a hobbit, you know."

I didn't care if anyone else cared. That comment meant the world to me. 


	4. A Bleak Departure

**The Laundry of the Fellowship**

At this point… just for fun.

**Chapter 4 – A Bleak Departure**

We were to set out at dusk (no, not dawn – how many people have been _up_ at that hour?) so I was rather well rested. The world was decent. I was going with them.

Of course, doubts always plague you just after an important event. I was beginning to remember just what lay ahead of me. Mountain climbing – I had always sworn I would _never_ go mountain climbing. My _mother_ was the mountain climber. She'd shown me a few pictures from her miserable trips with fond smiles… and I'd laughed nervously and inwardly winced at descriptions of high altitudes and sixty pound packs. At least I didn't have to pack my own bag – as I really didn't _own_ anything, they'd picked out some good traveling clothes and other such necessities. I noticed that the small paring knife I'd had was still there, but it was now accompanied by a very nice looking bow and some arrows. Which… I couldn't use. A bit of tugging at the string had revealed that I couldn't even pull it back all the way.

I frowned at this, but stowed the bow across my back anyway (which is more uncomfortable than it looks) and stole a glance at Aragorn, across the room.

The man was unhappy about something. Well, no surprise. Arwen had undoubtedly given him an earful for 'trying to gallivant away without so much as a goodbye kiss, thankyouverymuch!'. Just a guess.

I decided very quickly that I didn't want to be around him. Not only was he not entirely happy with me in general, he deserved some time alone to sulk. It's a strange thing to say, but you just can't have a satisfactory unhappy sigh with someone else in the room.

My feet ended up taking me to the pavilion of the council once more. The chairs were still there, the pedestal still standing with a small dent where Gimli's Dwarven axe had lain into it. My finger moved almost of its own accord to trace the crescent indentation.

I shivered, though, as my thoughts turned back to the ring – and therefore, to Frodo. _Where could he be now, _I wondered. _Was he, perhaps, sitting alone, waiting to leave…_

I found myself wanting to go see him, though of course, it had nothing to do with the ring that had lain on this pedestal. Nothing at all.

I had nearly left the pavilion to go in search of him when I realized what I was doing.

"No," I muttered aloud. "I'm not traveling that path. Not just yet."

And I stubbornly turned back to the chairs just to show that the ring had not yet won me over, despite the siren's call in my mind. The whispers of power…

"And what did I ever want with power before?" I huffed as I sat down in a chair, crossing my legs. "It's not like my life's dream is to be a dictator or anything. I wonder if the ring could promise me I'd write better?" I joked to myself. The tension in my mind lessened slowly… and faded away. But I felt with a strange certainty I couldn't explain that it would return at the next most inconvenient moment.

I noticed that my hand had had a white-knuckled grip on the arm of the chair. The blood had been cut off from it for a few seconds, and it was even paler than usual (which was saying something, considering I stayed inside like a recluse).

Thus, even as I relaxed, a voice from behind me startled me.

"You are to leave with us?"

It was Boromir's voice. I recognized it easily from the council, that persuasive, pleading voice that asked for something so awfully simple…

"Y-yes," I managed, cutting off that thought. The ring had not quite left my thoughts, as I had hoped.

The man of Gondor sighed heavily and walked through the archway, taking a seat himself. He had laid down his arms somewhere else; if he wore any weapons or armor, I could not see them.

It made him seem… vulnerable, almost. If a warrior could be such a thing.

There was silence for a moment, and I wondered with a sudden fright whether he had heard me talking to myself. I had been talking myself _out_ of doing anything related to the ring. But to a recent observer…

"You should not come," he said abruptly.

I blinked.

"What?"

He'd heard, I was certain. He'd heard, oh lord, he'd heard, and he'd tell the others and they wouldn't let me come-

"You are too young for such a journey," he interrupted my thoughts, banishing them thankfully. "I do not say so out of malice or condescension; but the things that we see on this journey will be gruesome, horrific in nature. I would not go myself, if I did not have a duty to fulfill. And it is a suicide mission."

I bit my lip, nervous at the turn the conversation had taken. To be pressed in my decision, which until then had been solid as rock…

My eyes flickered toward the pedestal, at once reminding me that rock could be broken… and that I had already been tempted.

If I was to go on this journey… was I secure in my own weakness? The fact that I would never be able to help them in their goals… I would be worse than useless, most likely, and there was always the possibility that I might not survive…

And there was the ring.

"I have to," I said hopelessly. "I… I have to get back. No one probably believes me, but it's my only hope of seeing my family again. I couldn't live with myself – even in Rivendell – if I never tried…"

Boromir seemed unhappy with my answer. "There are some things worth fighting for, things worth risking your life for. But are you willing to part with your sanity?"

We both knew what he was talking about – I knew even better than he what awful treachery the ring was capable of. But… there was always human decision.

That was what Tolkien had taught us. That we could be strong enough, if we needed to be.

"No," I stated firmly, something strange blossoming in my chest, like a light uncovered. "And that's why I'm not going to."

The man looked at me strangely, not understanding. I smiled brilliantly, though I knew it made me look like a fool. "If I promise myself never to take it in my moment of sanity, now… I can always look back and see that I made the decision intelligently." I was happy with this idea; it had to work. If I didn't trust myself, who could I trust?

Boromir shook his head. "I'm not sure what good such a promise will do. But if it staves off the decay of your willpower, so be it."

A stroke of inspiration hit me then. "So – will you promise me, too?" I asked lightly, as though I was simply trying to reassure myself that I was not the only one in doubt. "Promise yourself and me that you won't try?"

The man chuckled. "As you say; my word is my honor."

I shook his hand on it, though he didn't know what it meant. His bigger hand reminded me that I was powerless – but for these small victories.

I winked. "I'm holding you to that, you know. So don't go gallanting off after any magical rings without my say so."

If it didn't work… then it didn't. But I had to try.

"We're leaving soon," he told me, changing the subject abruptly. "You should pick up anything else you might need."

I instinctively held back the biting words I _wanted_ to say at that point. _"You mean the magic sword I found in an anvil outside or the wealth of useful items I was hiding underneath my weird tunic on the way here?"_

Instead, being a smarter person than that (or so I hoped), I went back inside, headed for the departure point, got lost for a few hours, then sat down on a bench and _waited._

Dusk came. And went.

I became annoyed as the stars began to become visible and I realized that dusk had been the _appointed_ time – not the end all time.

I stared at nothing. I tried (and failed) to play thumb war with myself. I cleaned the tiny stubs that were my fingernails. And finally, lost for anything else, I fell back to the oldest stand-by in the book: I began to hum 'Ninety-nine Bottles of Beer on the Wall'.

At forty-six bottles left, someone tapped me on the shoulder – I jumped up and screamed like the little girl I still sort of was.

The hand clamped down harder, steadying me, and I turned around to look at the face of Gimli, son of Gloin; it was crinkled in blatant amusement.

"You'll have to find your nerves before long," he said, sitting down heavily on the other side of the bench while I clutched at my chest and hyperventilated back to normal. "You'll not want to scream in a mountain pass, I assure you."

"Oh," I gasped. "Y-yeah." After a few moments of silence, during which time Gimli began inspecting his new axe carefully (it being his second-best) I picked back up where I'd left off, saying the words under my breath.

At thirty-two, Gimli interrupted me again, his axe inspected to his satisfaction.

"Is that a drinking song?" he asked me incredulously.

I shook my head, insulted, before I realized it sort of _was_ one. "Oh," I said, beginning to nod. "Yes, I suppose it is."

Gimli shook his head. "If there were any Dwarven drinking songs in Westron, I'd try to teach you one-"

Just before I could suggest eagerly that he teach me a Dwarven one anyway, another hand came down on my shoulder; I bit back the scream this time, but still jumped up out of my seat.

The elf-prince was standing behind me, aloof-looking, with raised eyebrows. His hand was still in the air where my shoulder had been.

"Don't go scaring the cook like that," Gimli admonished, fingering his axe in a way that made me very much aware of the tension between the two. "We'll be needing her skills soon enough."

Legolas turned his gaze away from him, much to my surprise, and let it settle on me.

"Elrond is sending rations with us," he said quietly, his eyes staring into my own in a way that made me shudder slightly. "I highly doubt she will be in need within the next two weeks – if at all."

I had the sudden, distinct feeling that he didn't want me to come. And for different reasons than Boromir's.

"What can I say?" I said with an easiness I didn't feel in the least. "I'll do my best to make things more palatable."

Legolas ignored me quite easily for someone staring straight at me. "Can you be trusted?" he asked bluntly, surprising me.

"I – _yes!"_ I sputtered, too surprised to say anything else.

I was somewhat aware of Gimli standing, ready to say something, when Legolas continued relentlessly. "Can your _will_ be trusted? Can you add anything of value to us, can you die, if need be?"

Gimli was snarling. "That's hardly a question to ask-"

"It _is_ a question to ask, though," Legolas interrupted. "It is the most important question to ask." His eyes never wavered from mine. "Well?" he demanded.

I swallowed. Would I really have to hash this out with every single member of this stupid fellowship?

_Yes,_ came an inner voice. _If need be, you will. They need to know it, because it's more than just this group on the line._

"Yes," I replied before I could stop myself. "There are things worth dying for." Boromir was right.

Legolas still didn't look quite convinced, and I knew it would take more than words to convince him – but before he could say anything else, the hobbits appeared as one group, chattering cheerfully about the road ahead.

"So," Gimli interrupted briskly, before Legolas could remember where he'd left off, "How about that drinking song, young one?"

I gladly took the out, despite the frigid look Legolas shot him for it. And by the time the rest of the Fellowship had arrived, I was stumbling over a bunch of words I didn't quite understand in a voice a couple octaves higher than the song was meant to be sung in. Gimli told me somewhat jokingly that I sounded like I was whining it out.

I privately decided I would practice until I got the hang of it – languages had always fascinated me, and Dwarven was no exception.

------

Our group was strangely silent as we departed. The darkness was almost oppressive, a novel concept for a night in Rivendell. Many, if not most, of our eyes were cast to the ground. Aragorn led the way, having grown up in this land, and Gandalf went behind him, occasionally consulting with him about their journey and the possible paths they had undoubtedly already discussed a hundred times over. The old man was smoking his pipe as they went – I could only tell because of the stench that lingered in my nostrils. I frowned, covered my nose, and said nothing. If a Maia wants to smoke, you just don't tell him no.

To clarify things, I was walking near the back with Gimli. His presence was possibly the most comforting thing I could have hoped for – a solid, silent kind of guarantee in the dark. A shiver went down my spine as I remembered the screams of pursuing Nazgûl; I imagined the sound would plague me forever in my worst nightmares.

Legolas, who was bringing up the back with his keen eyesight, looked over at me sharply as though I had begun to speak in tongues. I wanted to glare at him, or perhaps to say something along the lines of 'Did I not just shiver _quietly enough_ for you?' but I'd long since learned to keep my big mouth firmly closed and my cynical emotions from my face. Instead, I arranged my features into a vaguely puzzled expression that probably didn't fool him in the least.

After a few moments, he turned to look behind him quickly, breaking eye contact for the short time it took me to look back at Gimli.

"Don't mind the elf," Gimli said quietly, but certainly loud enough for Legolas to pick up (which I suspected he knew). "They're all a bit high-strung. It comes of eating nothing but leaves."

The hiss of angrily expelled breath came from behind him, and I resisted the urge to turn around and hush the elf. While I certainly appreciated the support (and the humor), it wasn't going to help anyone get along better. Besides which, I knew that Gimli, no matter how well intentioned he thought he was, was just taking my side in this matter to rankle the elf.

A frigid breeze cut easily through my heavy coat at that moment, though, and I soon had to concentrate on keeping myself warm. The air from the eastern mountains was apparently following us on our way.


End file.
